


A Farewell to the Unwound Future

by elementalram



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11260152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalram/pseuds/elementalram
Summary: Since the end to Unwound/Lost Future makes me bawl every time I think about it, I decided to just go ahead and rewrite the ending to suit my needs.  This version has lots of sex in it.  The second chapter is just for fun.





	1. A Farewell to the Unwound Future

The hour was late, and darkness consumed the smoldering ruins in the heart of London. The sky sagged towards the earth, pregnant with looming grey rain clouds. The screeching wail of an ambulance speeding away slowly faded, and in its absence, a thick, suffocating silence settled around two figures in a narrow alleyway.

”I’m sorry.” A woman’s voice sliced through the cold air. “I didn't mean to hurt you like this, but," she paused, “it’s… unavoidable." She turned and started to walk deeper into the alley.

"No, please, I cannot do this again, not like this! Claire, please."

She stopped mid stride, and after a beat, he took a nervous step after her.

”I can't stop it.” Claire turned around to face Hershel. “It's like every molecule, every little piece of me is fighting to go back to my time. I'm certain I'll be gone before the sun rises. I’ve accepted it. I just… wanted to spare you all of this."

She took a deep breath and held out her arms in front of her. Hershel watched them, almost expecting them to disintegrate before his eyes. He took another step forward, closing the gap between them, and took her cold hands in his. He looked up into her eyes, then pulled her into his arms. Rolling thunder boomed overhead.

"Then stay with me, please, until it happens. Let me be by your side when... when you go.” She buried her face in his shirt. The two clung to each other desperately.

A short distance away, a third figure stood just outside of the light from the nearby post. He watched the others embrace, then ducked out of sight. He silently made his way towards the mouth of the alley.  Luke stepped out onto the sidewalk where Inspector Chelmey and Constable Barton were waiting.

"Well lad?" the Inspector waggled a finger.

Luke shook his head, his gaze downcast.

The Inspector rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Barton rubbed his nose, then looked at the sky. Chelmey followed his gaze upward. "Gonna rain soon. I s'pose we ought to get you home, eh lad?" He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. Luke's round face crumpled up, tears spilling noiselessly from his little eyes.

Barton piped up. "Hey, uh, y'know, sir... we could use a fresh pair of eyes on this case. You know, to help wrap up loose ends.”

"Barton, you daft primate!  We’ve got our culprits behind bars, and our boys are already bringing folks back into the city. This case is over!” He paused, rubbing his chin. “However, there is an open case from before which has stumped all the brightest minds in London.  Now this one is a dangerous puzzle, and its all about a cold blooded, very mysterious murder--"

"And a mysterious treasure--!"

"Quiet down Barton! Ahem. Like I was saying, murder and treasure, in the form of a rich inheritance that is, and a mysterious motive, too. If Layton weren't indisposed right now, I might ask ‘im, though I s'pose Layton's apprentice might be the next best thing, eh?" He rubbed his chin. " Maybe we should let 'im have a crack at it."

Luke shot up, quickly rubbing his face with the back of his sleeve. "I can do it! Let me have a go! "

The Inspector chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "You're Layton's boy alright. Well, follow me then. Scotland Yard is just up the street."

As the strange trio made off, lightning flashed across the sky. Meanwhile, the pair in the alleyway finally relaxed their embrace.

New hope in his eyes, Hershel said, ”Allow me to show you around town. The city has changed much in the last ten years. I mean, of course, even with recent events aside…."

Claire smiled. "Hershel, lovely as that sounds, I don't think we are going to be able to do much sightseeing." She gestured toward the sky.

"Ah. Indeed. Well..." he cast about for more ideas.

"Why don't we go to your home? I wouldn't mind seeing how you've been getting on."  She smiled warmly, and Hershel felt his heart melt.

“That sounds wonderful.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the end of the alley where the Laytonmobile was parked.  Looking up the street, he spotted three figures in the distance: one square, one round, and one small.  He breathed a quick sigh of relief, then opened the passenger side door before looping around to the other side and clambering in himself.

As the little car rolled down the street, thunder clapped and the skies finally released a torrent of rain.  Several traffic lights and street lamps were still out, but not as many as they had expected. The streets were still empty, undoubtedly due in part to the evacuation order and in part to the rain. Despite the eerie desolation, the ride home was pleasant. The pair couldn't help but exchange a few puzzles, and soon enough they were pulling up to his complex on the other side of the great city.

Hershel got out first, holding his coat above his head. He ran around to the passenger-side door and carefully shielded Claire from the rain. With a laugh, they scurried across the sidewalk, up the steps and through the entrance. Hershel nodded and tilted his hat in a quick hello to the doorman as they made their way to the elevator.

Finally, they reached his flat. Layton fumbled to get the key in the lock. He took a steadying breath and tried again. The pins turned with a satisfying clunk and he pushed the door open. He reached an arm inside to pat around for the light switch, grateful that the grid in this part of the city was still intact, then stood aside to let her in.

Claire stepped over the threshold, a wide grin on her face. He helped her ease out of her coat and placed it on the coatrack, then delicately adorned it with his own top hat. He stepped back and looked at the two articles of clothing there together, a wide grin on his face.

He turned to Claire. ”I'm deeply sorry about the mess. Please make yourself at home dear. And of course, anything that's mine is yours."

Swooping to pick up a rogue toy train, he jogged his soaked jacket down the hall and into the bathroom where he draped it over the shower curtain rod. It was quiet. He crossed the hall and knocked softly on the door to Flora's room.

Meanwhile, Claire walked around the small, cozy living room. Bookshelves packed tight with literature and knickknacks lined the walls. A small desk stood beneath the window, barely visible under piles of academic papers, boxes of records and an old gramophone. Opposite the window was an old, worn couch and a plain coffee table, and behind that, the open kitchen was visible on the other side of a breakfast bar.

In one corner of the room, a toy robot sat across from a teddy bear at a miniature table, a plastic tea set between them. Claire stood above this little scene to examine some of the items on a shelf. Here were some old journals, an ocarina and a thumb piano, an ammonite fossil, and some photographs. Most contained people she didn’t recognize. Flora was proudly holding a ribbon for 6th place at some kind of cooking contest in one. Luke was featured in a few photos alongside a woman in a yellow blazer, and there were some pictures of dig sites as well. She spotted Dr. Schrader in one. And then she saw her own familiar face, lab coat in one hand and a bouquet in the other; this photo was taken to celebrate her admission to a PhD program, she recalled. The worn, yellowed edges of the photo revealed its age.

She turned around when she heard soft footsteps coming up the hall. Hershel was carrying an uncorked bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"She's asleep," he said, "but we should be okay. I suspect Luke will be out all night."

Claire smiled. As she walked over to him, he set the glasses down on the coffee table and began to pour. He cleared his throat. "Well, Flora likes to create, ah, culinary experiments, so I'm not exactly sure what we have left in the refrigerator, but I think there's some frozen lasagna, or—"

"It's quite alright," she said, taking a seat on the couch. He still stood, seemingly unconvinced.

"I can't let you go hungry."

"Let's just enjoy each other's company." She held up the glass and patted the sofa beside her.

Finally, he plopped down. They clinked glasses and silence fell between them as each took a drink. The only sounds to be heard were the slow tic-tock of the grandfather clock accompanied by the rain hitting the windowpanes. Hershel found his heartbeat suddenly matching the tempo of the downpour as looked outside at the darkness. He drained his glass as his mind scurried to procure a plan of action.

"Aha! Music!" He shot up, still clutching the stem of his empty wine glass. "That's what we need. Any preference?" Before she could answer, he crossed the room to where his old gramophone lie on the desk next to a box full of dusty records. He flipped through them; most hadn't been touched in years. He had a habit of keeping his favorites in his office at the university. "Ah, here we are! I think this is an old favorite of yours, dear." He set the empty wine glass down next to the box and immediately knocked it to the floor with the corner of the dusty album. It hit the wood floor with an ear splitting clatter. He chuckled nervously and bent over to pick it up.

The second attempt was successful.  Jazz music now filling the empty air, Hershel's face suddenly flushed. Was this the right record? He looked down at the cover at the enigmatic smirk of Marvin Gaye, then flipped it over and read the titles on the back. He reeled back, horrified. _Why don't you just throw a handful of condoms at her, you dolt!_ As Marvin Gaye sang about "sexual healing," a beet-red Hershel frantically searched the box of records for something more subtle.

Soft laughter played in his ear and he felt a hand grasp his elbow. "It's okay dear, come back to the couch."  Mortified, he stiffly allowed himself to be led away.

_Get up, get up, get up, get up, let’s make love tonight!_

He sat down. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. He swallowed dryly and poured himself another glass of wine.

"Hey, I'm going to use the restroom real quick, ok? And don't change it!"  She pointed to the record player. "I promise, I do like this song."

Hershel downed the wine, then poured another and downed that also. Thankfully, he found that it did settle his nerves somewhat. Maybe he was stressing out over nothing. If she truly liked the song, then never mind the lyrics, right?  Moreover, he should feel lucky she wasn't hungry; he didn’t consider himself to be a good cook, after all.  With a sigh, he set his glass down on the low table and leaned back. That simple motion suddenly sent the room spinning around him. He quickly sat up, blinking.  Clearly his tolerance for alcohol had waned considerably over the years!

With a groan, he buried his burning face in a hand. Clearly nothing about tonight was going to go right!  Why couldn't he have restocked his fridge?  Why couldn't he have chosen a proper record?   _And most of all, gentlemen are_ not _supposed to pressure women into sex, inadvertently or not!_   He hoped he hadn't disappointed her too much. No food, crass music, a filthy, unkempt house.... He looked around, evidence of his ineptitude as a host all around him, and spied a fossil in a little dress meant for a doll propped up against a leg of the coffee table. He groaned and covered his face again. What was taking Claire so long? Was she crying in the bathroom right now? She was probably crying. _Undoubtedly_ crying! He felt horrified. He started to get up--

"Your restroom is so cluttered!"

Hershel nearly leaped out of his skin and, for the second time that night, sent his wine glass sailing to the floor.

Claire stopped mid-stride. "Oh Hershel dear, I knew you would stress out too much. Your face and eyes are all pink, dear. Here."  She held up a bottle of lotion.  "I'm going to give you a back massage."

She returned the glass to the table and instructed him to get on his stomach on the sofa.  He tried waiving the idea away, but she insisted it would be good for him, and that she would be awfully happy if he indulged her.  Finally, he complied.

He lay on his stomach with his face buried in his arms and felt her weight settle on his rear as she straddled him, then the cold air on his back as she pushed his shirt up to his armpits.  He could hear the squelch of the bottle oozing lotion, then the quick friction of her hands sliding together.  She pressed them against the small of his back.  He flinched.  It was cold!—but they soon warmed up as she worked.

She started with a thumb on either side of his spine and pushed upwards.  After a few motions, she rubbed the hard muscles between his shoulder blades.  “You are very tense, honey.” She pushed deep with the heels of her hands and Hershel groaned an apologetic response.  She chuckled and worked his shoulders underneath his bunched up shirt next, then reached through the collar to massage the back of his neck just below the hairline.  “You know, you haven’t changed much,” she pinched the side of his stomach, “although there is a bit more dough here than before. …Are you still ticklish?”

Hershel snorted in laughter as she poked his sides.  When he finally caught his breath, and after she promised to abstain, he spoke again. ”Thank you for that, Claire," he said, his head now to one side.

"Feel better?"

"Yes, thank you."  Indeed, a warmth he hadn’t known for quite a long time had seeped through his whole body. He sighed, contented.

"I can keep going, if you'd like. Turn around, will you?" She planted a foot on the ground and lifted herself up enough to let him twist onto his back (he with nary a thought to the implications). "You know, it sounds like Marvin really wants us to continue."

 _Huh?_ He had unconsciously tuned out the music. Panic shot through him. _Let's Get It On_ was now playing on the record. She had settled back down, and this time, it was on his hips, right below the hitherto-unnoticed-by-him-but-now-painfully-obvious erection.

He blanched. No wonder his face didn't feel red anymore! All of his blood was occupied elsewhere! He inwardly screamed.  Her eyes were on him again, watching him; her angelic countenance was lightly flushed and her lips slightly parted. Slowly, her hand carefully caressed the now violently throbbing length through the soft fabric. She drew a line down its whole length with a finger, then stopped at the tip to rub the head softly.

She was speaking, she was saying his name, but he could only hear the blood pounding in his ears. Suddenly she planted her hands firmly on either side of his shoulders and leaned forward to capture his mouth, tasting mint and wine. She ground her body into his, moving her hips and sending waves of searing, animal lust coursing through his loins.

"Wait, wait-- no, hold on,” he gasped. “I must do something first!” Hershel wriggled out from under her and fell unceremoniously to the floor between the couch and the coffee table, head first and with a loud thud.  Still lying prone, he straightened out one leg and dug his hand into his pocket.

A baffled Claire watched as he pulled something small from his pocket and clutched it in a tight fist.  He clumsily got up onto all fours, bumping the table and knocking over the wine glasses for the third _goddamned_ time that night.  This time, however, he let them roll to the floor as he prepped himself.   _Okay old boy, you can do this. It's quite literally now or never!_

Unfortunately, the situation was far less than ideal. With Marvin Gaye still crooning away on the gramophone behind him, he managed to steady his sweaty body on one bended knee and somewhat hide his arousal.  Straightening out his shirt, he fought to steady the spinning room around him as he reached out a shaky hand and presented to her a little grey box, now opened to reveal a small, glittering stone on a gold ring.

He tried to speak but his mouth was too dry. He swallowed.

Her hands found her mouth. "Oh Hershel, its _beautiful_."

Taking a deep breath, he tried to choose his words carefully. "Claire, I— I should have given this to you long ago. It has been my biggest regret in life that I never scraped together enough courage to say these words. Claire,” he paused, then drew in another deep breath, “will you make an honest man of me, and give me your hand?"

“Oh, honey… I don’t know what to say….”

Fidgeting, he quickly apologized and went on to acquiesce that it was a selfish gesture and began reprimanding himself for the timing when she cut him off mid-sentence.

 _“Yes!”_ she smiled warmly, "Of course I will, Hershel.”

An immense weight suddenly crumbled from his shoulders and his body became light. He helped guide the ring onto her finger and felt a pure, bubbling jubilee rise in his chest as he watched her study the ring, a smile peeking through the fingers of her other hand.  She opened her mouth to speak, her eyes brimming with tears, but after a moment closed it again, unable to find the right words.

"It's okay,” he said, “I only want you to know that I'm immensely grateful for you and everything you’ve done for me to make me who I am.” He wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Hershel, I love you."

Elated, he stumbled over his next words: ”Oh Claire, I love you so much—" He fell forward and captured her lips with his.

Her lips were soft, perfect, divine. Without warning, the airy warmth within him ignited in a flash and was replaced with the burning, carnal lust he so desperately fought to smother all evening. His composure slipping, he grabbed her hand and yanked her body closer to his, exploring her mouth with his tongue. His other hand found its way down and began fingering the button of her pants.

 _"Up,"_ he growled into her mouth. She raised her hips and he worked her pants down, then tossed them aside. He lifted her body just high enough to allow himself to slide into the space underneath her. With her in his lap, he effectively had her pinned between his body and the back of the couch. She wrapped her legs and arms around him.

He claimed her neck next, sucking and biting the soft flesh and savoring each gasping cry as rewards. He deftly slipped a hand between their bodies and unzipped his trousers to finally, _finally_ free his throbbing member from its confines. She squeaked a surprised gasp as he rocked his hips to rub her wetness through her undergarments.  He then reached between her back and the couch and pushed her underwear aside to stroke her dripping entrance with his fingers. With a guiding hand, he thrust upwards and in one libidinous motion felt his entire rod enveloped to the hilt.

 _“Hershel!”_ she gasped.

He groaned desperate affirmations, his voice rumbling into her ear as he held on tight and ground deeply into her. She was panting his name now with her head lolled back onto the couch. He slowly rolled his hips to stroke her deepest parts. Her hands were in his hair, scratching his scalp and the base of his neck, clinging desperately as he picked up speed.

He leaned back and twisted her around so she could bend over the couch on her knees and he could continue from behind. Hershel used the new space and leverage to pull most of the way out before slamming back in. Gripping tight to her hips, he drew out again, savoring every inch of her in both directions.  Words devolved into nonsensical muttering and salacious vocalizations; their panting was barely audible over the slapping sound of wet skin on skin. A burning need was building up in the pit of his stomach as he thrust and ground himself into his lover. He breathed a curse, teetering on the brink of release.

“Claire—“

“Hershel! _Ahh!_ ”

She arched her back, walls clenched around him, massaging him and sending him over the edge. He leaned over her and came hard, his whole body shuddering as explosive, orgasmic ecstasy burned through him in wave after wave after wave.

They collapsed onto the couch cushions, listening to the rain and to each other’s breathing slowly returning to normal, occasionally lightly kissing the other’s neck or face. The needle to the gramophone had long ago fallen off the record, the static-like sound preferable in Hershel’s mind. Claire closed her eyes, slowly drawing circles with a finger on the back of his neck. He brushed the hair from her face and nuzzled into her ear.

“I could just stay like this forever.”

On the other side of the flat, the toilet flushed. Startled, the pair jumped up to sitting. Hershel silently chastised himself for forgetting that Flora was here and got up to quickly tuck himself away before scooting off the couch to retrieve Claire’s discarded pants. He leaned over to peek into the hallway. It was empty, and the door to her room was closed.

“Maybe we should move to your room,” Claire whispered. Nodding in silent agreement, he took her hand and led her past the kitchen and down the hall. After quietly shutting the door behind them, Hershel turned and stopped mid-stride. The only bedroom companions he’d known for some time were of the textual variety.  In other words, there were several unkempt piles of books on his bed. He stepped over to pick up one of the piles off the comforter and moved it to the floor, muttering apologies all the while.  As he worked, Claire slid under the covers on the clear side of the bed and watched with a beckoning grin.

Laying the last book, his favorite edition of the puzzle index, carefully down on the nightstand, he leaned over and turned the lamp off. The only light now came from the soft glow of the city outside.  He slid under the covers next to Claire, who pulled him into her arms and pressed her lips to his. As they kissed, he touched her stomach to undo the buttons of her blouse only to find that she had already discarded it while he was turned away. A quick rub down revealed that her pants and panties were also gone.

“Mm! You’re ambitious,” he hummed into the kiss as she slid a hand into his briefs and squeezed his firm, round ass. She worked the briefs and his trousers down as far as she could reach and he kicked them the rest of the way off.  Next she ran her hands over his abdomen and upwards to help him out of his shirt.

With a smile, he eagerly leaned back towards her to resume kissing and wrapped his arms around her to undo the clasp at the back of her bra. With it now off, he lightly pet her sensitive nipples with his thumbs and sent shivers running over her flesh. She in turn gripped her hand around his semi-hard manhood. It was still wet from their earlier encounter; pumping it earned her a lust fueled growl from him.

With one hand still toying with her soft breast, Hershel's other hand roamed over her body, trying to memorize every dip and every curve of every muscle. He cupped her posterior, then led down with his fingers to pet her hot, dripping entrance, curving a finger to explore its depths.

With a farewell peck on the nose, Hershel ducked under the covers and out of sight. She felt him move on top of her to caress her chest; he played with her nipples with his tongue and lips, then kissed the soft skin on the underside of her breasts. Moving down, he licked her stomach and went further south past her belly button, then stopped just above her hair. She moaned in encouragement and he tickled her swollen clitoris with his tongue, spreading her legs open.

She pushed the comforter away to watch him as he pressed and flicked the sensitive nub with his fingers and mouth. As he licked her opening, he savored the salty, tangy flavor, a result of their earlier passionate lovemaking. Next, his fingers went inside to resume their ministrations from before. Her breathing was quickening, she was arching her back; hands in his hair, she stifled a cry into a pillow and Hershel could feel her tighten around his fingers.

“I need you again,” he growled, getting up onto all fours. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed his mouth to hers, sharing with her the unique flavor of their combined juices. He held his cock and pressed it against her clit, then slid it down to stroke her slick hole. With a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, she pressed her legs into his back, drawing him forward. He eased in, gradually moving his hips to caress and feel each part of her. With one hand on either side of her shoulders, he pulled most of the way out, then slowly returned. He could feel sweat dripping from his face and arms as he struggled for the second time that night to maintain his composure. Her hands were tangled in his hair in one moment, then scratching his back and groping his rear end.  She pet the taut muscles in his torso and back which were flexing with the effort of maintaining the powerful rhythm.  He wanted this moment to last as long as possible, but already felt himself expanding and becoming more sensitive as she rolled her hips in tandem to each of his thrusts.

Determined to last, he clenched his muscles hard as he increased the speed. He leaned back and held tight to her hips, pulling her towards him each time he rammed into her. She was close too— she was so tight around him now.  She was biting her fingers to keep from screaming; he bit his bottom lip as well, his cock beginning to shudder in anticipation. He leaned forward again, preparing to relinquish control.

He bucked forward as the electric feeling shot through him. He could feel her body trembling under and around his, her walls convulsing around him, milking him for everything he had. He moaned her name, loving the way it felt in his mouth as he released his load deep into her for the second time that night.

When he finally collapsed, he could hardly think straight. His entire body ached in the most heavenly, most delightful way. He kissed Claire somewhere on the side of her face, trying hard to fight the torpor attempting to take over his body. Her eyes were closed, but she was languidly tracing a finger around the brim of his ear. With a final kiss, Hershel finally succumbed, falling into a deep slumber.

.  
.  
.

He dreamed he was being enveloped by a soft glow emanating from Claire, who was standing beside the bed in her usual attire. His body felt oppressively heavy; it was all he could do to weakly raise a hand out to her and grasp her hand.

“Claire….”

She smiled and leaned over him. “I’m so glad we got to spend this night together. I’ll always love you.”

And in an instant, she was gone.

She was gone.

.  
.  
.

When he morning sun crept invasively into the bedroom, Hershel’s eyes were already open. His body felt numb and his eyes felt raw; he wasn’t sure if he had slept at all last night. He closed his eyes and rolled into the spare pillow. Claire’s scent was still there, just barely. There was something small and hard in his closed fist, and he suspected he knew what it was. The ring he had given her the night before did not accompany her into the past; it glinted mockingly up at him in the soft sunlight.

After some time, he heard activity in the kitchen. Music drifted in, something upbeat and operatic, but he couldn't put his finger on who the composer was.  With a dejected sigh, he supposed he ought to some day take some time to familiarize himself with the contents of that box he kept those records in.  It sounded like both Luke and Flora were up and about; their voices and laughter rang out.

Sighing, Hershel finally pushed himself up to sitting, still clutching the ring.  He began to pull some fresh clothes out of the drawer under the window and paused. The sunlight, which he had cursed before, now draped over his body in a warm, healing embrace. He stood still, eyes closed for a few minutes, then drew a long breath. He set the ring down on the windowsill, where it glittered under the bright light.

He felt a little less foggy after a quick shower. He dressed himself, then pushed open the door and considered trying to sneak away to the quiet shelter of his office at the university.  Just as he was beginning to form a plan, however, little round eyes on a rosy-cheeked face peeked around the corner from the kitchen into the hall.

“He’s up!” Luke gleefully squealed as he retreated.

Hershel found himself smiling too now; the laughter of children can be quite infectious. He shrugged and followed after Luke into the kitchen, where he and Flora were waiting at the little table.

“Good morning!” they called out together. Then Flora continued, “We made banana pancakes with scrambled eggs and cheese, and we added little sausage chunks to it, see?”

“We didn’t have any flour, but Flora knows a special pancake recipe where you only need eggs and bananas!” Luke put his hands on his hips and grinned proudly.

“And we remembered to add milk to the scrambled eggs this time so they’re nice and fluffy,” Flora added.

Distracted, Hershel looked over into the living room. As expected, Claire’s jacket was undeniably no longer on the coatrack beneath his hat. He sighed. A little hand gripped his pinky finger. He looked down to see a deep concern etched in the boy’s eyes as he searched his face. Flora was holding back tears. Hershel got down on his knees to be eye-level with the kids and they came together for a big hug.

“This food, it all looks very scrumptious. You guys are too good to me. Thank you very much.”

They all sat down to eat. Soon, there came a knock at the door. Hershel started to get up, but Luke leapt out of his chair and raced towards the living room, calling out, “I got it!” When he returned, he was holding onto a letter. “The doorman came by to drop this off. He looked really haggard. I hope he’s okay.”  He passed the letter to the professor.

"Hm, you mean Raul?" he paused and rubbed his chin.  "I'll have to check in on him later."  He looked down at the envelope in his hand.  The name above the return address seemed vaguely familiar.  He took a spare butterknife, slit the top of the envelope open, and pulled out the letter. Carefully folded in the pages was a large, pale butterfly wing encased in a clear pouch. Luke eagerly took the wing and leaned over it with Flora. Hershel read the contents of the letter, his brows knit.

“Well, it looks like we’ve been summoned to the Painted Lady Estate near Karner Blue Springs. They claim that the entirety of their town has up and vanished, save for just a few old monuments.”

“Wow, Professor! Are we gonna go check it out?”

“Well, it does seem to merit some investigation, doesn’t it?” He smiled, taking a bite of the soft pancake. “Why don’t we pack our bags when we’re through eating this delicious meal?”

The trio eagerly dug into the warm breakfast, happily anticipating their next adventure.  While they ate, Luke regaled them a long, colorful tale about the mystery he had worked on while with Inspector Chelmey and Constable Barton the night before.  Hershel smiled as he listened and leaned back in his chair, feeling content with the world as it was.


	2. And what of Paul?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you finished reading my humble story. Well, I'm willing to bet that throughout the whole thing, you had one single question burning at the back of your mind. "Where is Don Paulo?" Am I right? I'm-- what? I'm not right? You don't really want to know what he was doing during all of that? Well, haha. Hm. In that case, dear reader, you might want to turn back. Click away now, don't scroll down past this sentence. I'm dead serious. Unless you want to read some pretty sick stuff, then you should just hit back on your browser now. Go on. Click that little arrow. Everything below this line is salacious filth involving everyone's favorite evil nemesis, Paul. You've been warned.

Don Paolo flipped through the pages of his notebook under the steady beam of a little flashlight held between his teeth.It would rain soon, but it would be no hindrance to him tonight, as long as he kept his wits about him and his contraptions close.Finally, he spotted the address he was searching for.When he wrote it down initially, he didn't know what he would use it for, but was confident it would some day come in handy. The address belonged to a certain headstrong, overconfident _‘gentleman,_ ’ and he knew exactly what he was going to do with the information.He tucked the little notebook into his inside breast pocket.

A sneer plastered to his mustachioed face, he dramatically threw open his umbrella and pressed a button on the handle.It began whirling like a high-powered fan around the central handle, and with a cackle he was yanked high into the air.He soared over the busted-up streets of London, around and past the towering structure of Big Ben and through the air until he came upon a residential area. 

He alighted on the ground and looked from side to side, confused.He hadn't counted on the directions leading him to a towering residential complex.There could be a hundred units in this structure!He supposed that he could probably fly around and look into all the windows until he found one unusually crammed full of bones and antiques and stupid shit like that, but that would take all night!

He rubbed his chin.  There had to be an easier way to find out which flat belonged to his arch nemesis.  He collapsed the umbrella and tucked it into his coat pocket, then pushed open the front door; he spotted a doorman sitting at the counter in the lobby across from the elevator.  With a grin, he marched right up to the man.

“Good evening. How may I help you, sir?” 

“Well, you can start by taking a nap!”He flipped his wrist and in an instant procured a chloroform soaked rag. Eyes wide, the doorman jerked back but he was faster; he leapt over the counter, grabbed the man and wrestled him to the floor.Finally, the man’s body went limp and Don Paolo stood up, dusting himself off. 

Immediately he set to work searching the drawers for some kind of roster that would show the names of the people in each room.A preliminary search revealed nothing.After thoroughly searching every drawer and cabinet, and tearing apart the employee room behind the counter, Don Paolo was livid.He clenched his fists and stared at the limp body of the doorman on the ground, seething.A thought suddenly hit him like a tow truck.If he had thought this through from the outset, he probably could have just _asked_ the doorman where Layton lived.That _is_ his job, after all.He ground his teeth and felt his blood pressure climb. 

_Alright, you’ll just have to come up with another plan._ He dragged the body of the sleeping doorman into the back room and stole his uniform.He tied him up to a chair and then donned the uniform himself.When he emerged back into the lobby, he was the spitting image of the usual doorman on the night shift.Now he just had to wait.

…And wait he did.  He sat at the counter, twiddling his thumbs and listening to the rain outside.  Suddenly, he began to doubt himself.  Perhaps he should have stopped by Layton’s office, just to make sure he wasn’t going to stay there tonight.  He hummed a little tune to himself and for the first time, took a moment to really examine his surroundings.  It was kind of a humble-looking place, wasn’t it.  He supposed he had expected Layton to have a little manor in the countryside.  It didn't really matter, either way.  Now that the bigger threat had been taken care of in the underground London, Layton had resumed his position as Enemy Number One, and as such, it only made sense that Don Paolo should strike tonight when the old fool was certain to be tired.  Seeing Celeste, who looked _so much_ like Claire, drudged up a lot of old feelings for him and he was eager to vent his frustrations the only way he knew how: through arching. 

He looked through the glass front doors and watched the rain fall.Suddenly, the doors opened, and two laughing figures rushed inside.Don Paolo sat up quickly as watched the top-hatted professor shake out his wet coat over the threshold, laughing alongside…

_Celeste!?_

Layton made eye contact with him as he walked through the lobby and gave a curt nod in greeting, touching the brim of his top hat.The pair hopped onto the elevator.Don Paolo watched with wide-eyes as the doors closed together around Layton and Celeste.The dial above the door moved as the elevator rose.…2…3…4…5….It stopped on the sixth floor.

He looked down at the counter, shocked.Layton just took Claire’s sister to his apartment….No question about it, that was her.That bastard… that slick, conniving bastard!He was going to fuck her!Fuck her like he fucked Claire, the purest, most intelligent, most wonderful person to ever grace this filthy planet.And now her sister too!?Had he no moral boundaries!?His mind whirled, rage building up in his chest. 

Options, he had to have some options here…. He could blow up the apartment, but that could hurt Celeste.He could kickdown the door, rush in and save Celeste from that lech.She had been smiling when she came through that door, he recalled.However, just because Layton’s unchaste intentions were obvious to him, that didn’t mean she was able to pick up on it in all her innocence.Maybe he promised her shelter, maybe she was hurt.Whatever the case, she was certainly going to fall victim to the man's wily libido unless _he_ did something about it.

He tore off the doorman’s clothes and threw them to the floor on his way to the elevator.He rode up to the sixth floor and stepped out into the hallway. _Shit._ He looked up and down the hallway at the matching doors lining it on either side.There were over a dozen between here and the fire escape on the other end.He picked a door at random and pressed his ear to it. 

Silence.He moved on to the next door.Nothing.He flitted from door to door, straining to catch the smallest sound.Had he already gagged her?Forced his cock down her throat to keep her from calling out?Feeling helpless, he jogged in place for a moment.If only he could see into the flats!He stopped, an idea sprouting in his mind.He raced towards the fire escape and bolted up the stairs.There was a door in the ceiling at the very top leading out to the roof.He pushed against it with his arm and shoulder.Water immediately cascaded down onto him. 

_Ugh, was it_ still _raining?_ He pressed on, throwing the door open.Now on the roof, he took out his propellor umbrella and flung it open.The rod telescoped out and began to whirl as he stepped onto the edge of the building.He jumped off the edge and was carried through the air to the sixth floor of the building, where he could easily fly by each window and look in.Even with the rain, this was _much_ easier and faster. 

Layton!There he was, sitting on the couch in his living room!He almost hadn’t recognized the dickwad without his hat on. _Almost._ He hovered in place and watched. _What the heck is he doing?_ He had his face in his hand and looked almost like he was crying.There was a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table in front of him, but Celeste was nowhere to be seen.Don Paolo laughed. _Looks like things aren’t quite going according to plan, are they old chum?_ He gleefully looked around for a place to land.This might actually be fun to watch, at least for a while.Then, when things started to get out of hand, he could heroically bust through this window and rescue the fair damsel.

The old building had rather wide windowsills and protruding decorative elements on the wall.It would be easy enough to cling to the wall outside Layton’s window and peer in.It was dark enough outside that he could easily look in without Layton being able to see him, too.Carefully, he clung to the brick facade and turned off his flying contraption.He awkwardly held it between his chin and shoulder to shield himself from the onslaught of rain while clinging to the wall.

As he leaned in towards the window, he could hear music. _Holy shit Layton, what are you listening to?_ He shook his head and cackled.What a raunchy little gentleman. _Oh!She's back!And she's holding onto something._ He watched Layton lay down on his stomach and then…. _Hoo-boy_.She had him straddled and was giving him quite the massage on his bare back.Layton flipped over.Now Celeste was pretty much sitting on his dick!She was touching and rubbing him, _gyrating_ against him…. Layton looked like he was hanging to that couch for dear life. 

Don Paolo realized that his pants had become rather tight.  He watched her bend over and kiss him.  Oh god, what was happening to him?  He let go of the wall with one hand and unzipped his pants.  He was drenched to the bones in rainwater, despite his best efforts to shield himself with his umbrella, but he would be damned if he missed this show. 

He grabbed his cock, but just as he began to tug, Layton threw a wrench in his plan.The fool was trying to get out from under Celeste? _You ungrateful idiot!A gentleman always puts a lady’s needs first!_ Don Paolo hissed, squeezing himself.Layton was on the floor now, and had propped himself up on one knee.Wide-eyed, Don slowly began stroking himself again.He had presented a ring— _fuck, did he just propose to her after knowing her for one day??_ That didn't make any sense, but they were kissing again, so he filed that info away for now. 

He pumped his cock furiously.Celeste’s arms and legs were around Layton’s torso and he was bouncing her in his lap against the back of the sofa.He pushed her around and started ramming into her from behind.Don Paolo silently wished it was his name she was squealing now, not Layton’s. _Fucking Layton!How I despise you,_ _how I loathe your very being.You, with your powerful back_ _and_ _perfectly tan, round ass bouncing as you—_

Don Paolo let go of his dick and desperately clung to the windowsill, heart pounding in his chest.Okay, that was weird.Where did his mind just go?Layton was repulsive, hard headed, arrogant— his primo arch nemesis! _And yet… that ass was divine._

When he recovered, he looked back in through the window, Layton was dragging Celeste by the hand to another part of his flat.Don Paolo theatrically smacked his forehead.He had forgotten all about his plan to swoop in and rescue Celeste because he had been too busy jerking off! Was it too late?Maybe there was a chance he could still play a hero’s role here tonight.Well, there was only one way to find out.His saturated, waterlogged clothes felt like they weighed fifty pounds, but he was determined.Carefully, he slid against the wall and stepped onto the windowsill. Hugging the wall, cautiously crept his way around to the bedroom window.

Peeking in, he let out an audible gasp and nearly slipped off the brick facade.Layton was at it again!Buck naked in the darkness, caressed by soft glow of the city lights, he was bent over, face buried between Celeste’s open legs.Her hands were stroking his hair, her mouth open, making short, gasping cries.Don Paolo grabbed one of the bricks around the window and resumed pumping his palpably palpitating protrusion. 

Layton was crawling up, oh dear lord, he was getting ready to fuck her again!Layton held onto his shaft and rubbed it against Celeste’s hole.Oh mercy, it was enormous, almost equine!Don Paolo’s heartbeat quickened as he clutched his umbrella in the pounding rain.The umbrella… it really hadn't done him any good as cover; it might serve him better in another capacity…. He pulled it shut and collapsed the rod.Carefully he bent over as far as he dared, trying not to look down at the ground six stories below.The handle and his ass were soaking wet with rainwater.He carefully angled it and pressed it against his backside. 

_“Oh Professor, yes,”_ he groaned.The feeling of the handle in his asshole was _sublime._ Layton was slowly grinding into Celeste: Don Paolo tried to match the speed with the handle of the umbrella.Suddenly, Layton straightened up, grabbed her hips and started thrusting harder!Don Paolo knew he was being reckless, but he couldn't stop himself.He let go of the windowsill entirely so he could dedicate one hand to pumping his shaft and the other to penetrating himself.His head was swimming, his legs were shaking.He pressed his face against the window to better balance himself, but he felt his knees were going to give out soon.He was so close!He thrust into his hand, reveling in the added friction to his asshole.He watched as Layton buried his face in Celeste’s neck— he must be coming now!Suddenly, Don Paolo exploded, spewing cum all over the brick wall, onto the window and his clothes. 

Euphoria, oh exultant rapture, it gives as well as takes away.Don Paolo, enjoying the high, leaned back and slipped right off the facade.Noiselessly he tumbled head over heels through the air, his hand still clutching the contraption which could save him now had he the mental wherewithal to use it.Down he fell, until he was engulfed in the blackness of night. 

With a deafening crash, he fell straight into a dumpster overflowing with water laden trash, where he would continue to lay for the rest of the night.   Eventually, Don Paolo did recover as the rain finally began to let up.As he stared into the clouds above Layton’s window, he noticed a strange glow emerge.Finally, it clicked: that was Claire.“Ahhh,” he sighed as he drifted off to sleep.“I get it now.” 

And the next time Don Paolo saw the Professor, it was a chance meeting at the grocery store.  They had accidentally bumped carts while they were both rounding the same corner.  The Professor apologized, greeted him warmly and called him _Paul._ Don Paolo's face burned bright red as he blushed.  He looked into his cart, searching for something to say, but the only item the Professor had in there so far was a bag full of flour.  The Professor was trying to ask him something about some guy named Raul, but all he could think about was that nice, thick dick and round ass!  Abandoning his cart full of groceries and the Professor, he raced out of the grocery store.  He was going to have to do a lot of work if he was ever going to be able to bring his next diabolical plan to fruition!


End file.
